


Six of Cups

by momoejaku



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-18 12:15:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8161816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momoejaku/pseuds/momoejaku
Summary: Dick convinces a sceptical Damian to join him for a tarot reading after patrol, and they both get a little more than they bargained for.





	

‘Really, Grayson…’ Damian scowled, watching his mentor shuffle the illustrated cards with practiced fluidity. 'I don’t understand how this menial card trick is any better than your attempt at predicting my future using tea leaves.’

Dick smiled and bridged the cards, the motion causing the lit candles scattered around them to flicker. The light cast shadows across both of their faces, masking bruises and cuts and dark circles under eyes: the wear and tear of vigilantism. 

‘Tasseography is just for fun, Damian,’ he said cooly. ‘I never take it too seriously. But tarot reading can really help you understand yourself better, point out your flaws, call you out on stuff… in my experience, the cards can be pretty brutal. They always give me good life advice, sometimes even better than Alfred’s.’

Alfred raised an eyebrow with a disapproving frown, setting cups of tea down on the penthouse floor where Batman and Robin sat cross-legged. ‘Somehow, I highly doubt that a stack of cards would be able to give better advice than the individual who has painstakingly looked after your well-being since you were the age of nine, Master Richard.’ 

‘As do I, Pennyworth.’ Damian grinned at the butler as the latter retrieved the pile of capes, gloves, boots and masks that had been unceremoniously dumped on the couch and returned to the kitchen. 

Dick sighed, the frustration that seemed to be ever-present around Damian these days building up inside his chest. It had been a long night on patrol for both of them, all the little miscommunications and mistakes that came with their partnership creating friction between the new Batman and Robin. Dick remembered going through this process with Bruce years ago when he was starting out as Robin, but it was different when you were the one in charge. When you had to take ultimate responsibility for both Batman and Robin’s actions; something the reformed child-assassin did not make easy. ‘Just let me shuffle the cards, will you? You’ll thank me later. I promise.’ 

Damian took an indignant sip of tea in response, his glare reaching a new level of ferocity. Dick ignored the boy and concentrated on the cards; eyes closed, focused on his breathing, the familiar feel of the cards between his fingers, the sound of the cards shuffling together and falling out of the bridge, preparing his question. It had been a while, but the simple movements and sounds felt so natural to him, reminded him of his childhood. Dick remembered Missy, the fortune teller at Haly’s Circus, painstakingly teaching him how to shuffle and giving him his first tarot deck. He remembered practicing on his parents, wearing a professional and mysterious demeanour as he fanned the cards out on the floor of their trailer, the sound of his mother's laughter when his father pulled _The Fool_ card… It felt safe, calming. A way to ground himself when he felt as if he would be carried away in his thoughts and feelings, when there was too much going on in his mind.

He allowed himself to dwell on the bittersweet memories for only a moment before turning his mind back to the deck of cards in his hands and the boy fidgeting impatiently in front of him. ‘Can you shuffle?’ he asked his partner, protege and little brother. 

' _Tt_ , obviously.’

‘Okay, then.’ Dick handed Damian the deck and crossed his arms, nodding the boy on. ‘Shuffle them a few times so you can get a feel for the cards too. Seeing as this is a reading for both of us.’

Damian rolled his eyes with a scoff, but took the cards from Dick. ‘This is foolish,’ he muttered through clenched teeth.

Dick watched him in silence. The movements seemed natural and he shuffled them well, albeit struggling with the size of the cards in his own small hands. His brow furrowed slightly as the cards splintered in a failed shuffle, a short, vexed growl escaping his mouth. 

‘Try and relax,’ Dick instructed him. ‘Focus on clearing your mind of any distractions.’

‘I didn’t realise this was a practice in meditation.'

‘It’s a practice in a lot of things, Dami. Meditation, reflection… patience.’

‘All things for which I have no time.’ 

Damian finished shuffling with an attempted one-handed flourish, but cursed as the cards flew out of his hand again. Dick laughed and Damian’s face grew red from embarrassment and irritation.

‘Tarot are a bit bigger than normal playing cards, but nice try.’ He collected all the cards and shuffled them a few more times for good measure before tapping the deck with his knuckles twice. ‘Now remember, this is a three-card spread. The first card will represent me, where I’m at in life, what I’m going through… and so on. The second card will represent you, and the last card will represent both of us: our relationship.’

‘Stop boring me Grayson and just get on with it.’

_Breathe, Dick. Breathe. Let the cards lecture him tonight, not you._

He willed himself to say nothing as he cut the deck in half, then took the card at the top and placed it in between them.

On the card was a hand, cloaked in white clouds and clutching an upright sword above a dark mountain landscape. At the tip of the sword hung a golden crown, from which dangled two Grecian wreaths. 

_The Ace of Swords._

Dick smiled, amused, then pulled out the next card. 

A woman, crowned and wearing a brightly coloured yellow dress and white cloak, sat regally on an ornate throne, framed by a clear blue sky. In her right hand she held a wooden staff and in her left, a sunflower. A black cat sat at her feet. 

_The Queen of Wands._

He laughed slightly and shook his head. Damian’s eyes narrowed as he glared at the card, then back at his mentor. Dick chose the final card from the deck and set it down next to the others, doubling over with laughter as he did. 

In front of a sunny house, an older child held a golden cup out to a younger child, leaning over to smell the white flower held in it as he did. Five other cups, each with green leaves and a single white flower, were scattered across the card. 

It was _The Six of Cups._

_‘What.’_ Damian snapped, growing ever impatient. ‘What is it, Grayson? What’s so funny?’

Dick wiped away a few tears from the corner of his eye as the laughter subsided. ‘Ha- sorry, Damian. Just… give me a second to gather my thoughts.’ He bent over the cards, studying them as the boy rolled his eyes and slumped back onto the floor with an emphatic sigh.

Alfred wandered over and collected Damian’s empty tea cup, replacing it with a spinach, roasted tomato and feta sandwich. ‘Another spot of tea, Master Damian?’ He said, glancing at the cards for only a moment in an effort to appear disinterested. 

‘May as well,’ Damian mumbled, half the sandwich already in his mouth. ‘This looks like it’s going to take a while.’

'I’m almost done, Damian.’ Dick continued to focus on the cards, running his fingers over each of them individually in a distracted manner as Alfred brought the teapot over and refilled Damian’s cup. Damian finished his sandwich and washed it down with some more tea, still eyeing Dick and the cards with suspicion. 

‘It _is_ a beautiful deck, Master Dick,’ Alfred said from across the room, polishing Robin's boots in a meticulous fashion. 

‘Thanks, Alfie. I’ve had this deck for a long time. Its a traditional deck, so the readings are a bit more straight-forward.’ Dick breathed in and out deeply, cracked his neck and stretched his arms out in front of him. ‘Right! You ready, Robin?’

‘Ready to be done.’

‘Great. Well you’re off the hook for the first card, since it’s mine… but I’ll run through what I think it means for me so that you can get a sense of how this works, and because this is meant to help us work better together as partners— something we can’t do unless we understand exactly what each other is going through. Capisce?’

‘Just decipher your damn card so we can get to mine and I can tell you its wrong,’ Damian said, apparently looking forward to proving to his older brother that this truly was a “pathetic waste of time” as he had so colourfully described it.

Dick shrugged, unconcerned, and held up the first card between his index and middle fingers. ‘This card is The Ace of Swords. Now, any card from the Suit of Swords is meant to represent logic, intellect… the things that are going on in your mind.’

Damian raised an eyebrow, sceptical. ‘Logic and intellect? It sounds as if you drew the wrong card for yourself, Grayson.’

‘It would seem so, wouldn’t it?’ Dick admitted. Damian frowned, knowing that a justification was soon to follow. ‘More often than not, I draw a card from the Suit of Cups to represent myself in the present. Cups are the emotional cards. The ones that deal with relationships and feelings. But we’ll come back to that. 

‘To summarise, The Ace of Swords represents a period of insight or mental clarity. It suggests that you’ve recently had an epiphany of some sort. Often, it means you've gained a different understanding of some issue that has been on your mind recently, and the card encourages you to use this new outlook to approach your goals with renewed strength and confidence. To… “prepare for battle” you could say.’ Dick smiled apologetically at his little brother. ‘Sorry, it’s a lot to take in.’

Damian nodded his head slowly and steepled his hands. ‘I think I've grasped the general meaning that has been assigned to this particular card,’ he said, endeavouring to keep his tone level and inconsequential. But Dick recognised the look in the boy’s pensive, green eyes. 

He was intrigued. 

‘So you are… “preparing for battle?”’ Damian prompted.

‘I think I am.’ Dick responded, pausing to gather his thoughts carefully before continuing. He played with the handle on his own cup of tea, which had grown cold by now and rippled as he moved it about. ‘It’s true that I’ve kind of had a “moment of truth” in regards to my being Batman. What it means for me, Dick Grayson, to wear the cape and cowl. A few weeks ago, I was just Nightwing posing as Batman. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, I didn’t want to be doing it, and I just felt like a fake. But that’s exactly what I was. I was a fake. I was pretending to be someone I wasn’t: I was pretending to be Bruce Wayne, which obviously didn’t work. Bruce and I are just too different. I ended up trying to suppress all of my emotions, trying to think like Bruce, move like Bruce… it— well… I wasn’t in a very good place. As I’m sure you remember.’

‘We’ve both… changed, I suppose, since becoming partners,’ Damian offered, his voice level, containing the smallest hint of softness in it.

Dick felt himself relax, relieved that Damian didn’t judge him for those few tumultuous weeks. He placed the tarot card back on the floor as he continued. ‘I realise now that I can never be Bruce Wayne, and I shouldn’t try to be. Bruce and I may be completely different, but Batman and I have always shared the same core motivations: to help those who need it, to protect those who can’t protect themselves, and to bring justice to those who deserve it. And I’m ready to do that. Not as Robin, and not a Nightwing… but as Batman. So, I think the cards are telling me to approach my being Batman with conviction; a clear mind and focussed intent. To focus on my sense of reason over my emotions so that I can fully step into my role as Batman and continue the legacy in my own way.’

They sat there in silence for a moment before Damian cleared his throat awkwardly; clearly surprised by the detail and wisdom of the reading. ‘I… see.’ 

Dick followed his gaze down to the middle card. ‘You ready for your card?’

_‘Tt,_ very well. Let’s hear it,’ he challenged both Dick and the cards, his young voice wavering ever so slightly as Dick reached for his card and held it up. 

Dick gave the boy an encouraging smile before he began. ‘The Queen of Wands indicates a person who is very strong-willed, ambitious, independent and self-sufficient. It suggests that you are very good at remaining focussed on your goals, and your confidence gives you the power and drive to achieve whatever you set your mind to.’ He glanced up at Damian, who sat tall, his chest puffed out. Dick shook his head as he continued. ‘It indicates that you are reaching a new stage in your personal development— which, taking into account your new role as Robin, you are— and the card encourages you to use your creative energies and allow them to take you down whatever path you feel they are leading you to. To trust yourself and approach all your endeavours with a confident mindset.’

‘If you praise him any more, Master Damian’s ego will likely explode,’ Alfred commented sarcastically from across the room. 

Damian shot a glare at the butler. ‘Perhaps Pennyworth would like his fortunes told too?’

'Unlike Young Sir, I do not require any affirmation of my many talents and character, as I am quite conscious of them. And, quite frankly, I was not aware that this little game of cards would develop into an excuse to bolster the ego.’

‘If that was all the cards had to say for Damian, I wouldn’t see the point in it either, Alfred,’ Dick responded pleasantly.

Damian’s eyes narrowed. ‘What else could this card _possibly_ have to say?’

‘Dami, the cards are really good at offering encouragement… which, contrary to Alfred’s opinion, I think you needed.’ Damian flushed, and looked down at the floor in embarrassment. ‘But they’re also really good at pointing out our flaws and telling us where we need to grow.’

‘I thought that was your job,’ the boy retorted.

‘Tonight I’m letting the cards talk for both of us. It’s been a long night,’ he paused, raising an expectant eyebrow at his little protege. ‘And something tells me you’re going to take this very personally.’

‘Fine,’ Damian snapped taking one last angry swig of tea. ‘I’m listening.’ Alfred removed his cup and Dick’s, hovering nearby as he busied himself with tidying the food tray, not wanting to miss the next bit. 

‘Simply put, The Queen of Wands warns you against thinking you’re the “queen” of the world.’ 

Damian’s face grew a bright red and Alfred made no attempt to restrain his laughter. Damian opened his mouth in protest, but closed it as Dick held his hand up. ‘Let me finish. I think we can both agree that you have a temper. You’re very quick to let your anger or frustration affect your decisions and how you react to people or situations… you feel justified in it. And this is something you need to work on if you’re going to continue being Robin. You often think you know better than people who have more experience than you, and seem baffled whenever others disagree with you or don’t see things from your point of view. But you need to understand that, for all your training and talent, you’re still human. You’re not invincible. Your passion and confidence is admirable, Dami. It really is. I wish I had had half the confidence you have at the age of ten. But thinking you know best and not listening to me, or the Titans, or Alfred, or any other mentors or team mates that come your way could get you killed.’

Damian sat quite still, mulling over everything Dick had just said, his mouth turned down in that perpetual scowl that everyone had come to know and love. ‘Fine, fine,’ he mumbled. ‘I’ll work on managing my anger. But it’s really not my fault that other people are so dense.’

Dick sighed, massaging his temple in frustration. ‘You'll have to "work" a little harder on this one, Robin. But in the mean time, how about I interpret the last card. The one for both of us.’

‘The sooner I can leave, the better.’ He glared at the final card as Dick held up. He knew he was getting too invested in the cards, taking them to heart just as Dick said he would. But no matter how much he told himself that _they didn’t mean anything, not really, it was just a stupid card game,_ he couldn’t shake the feeling that this deck of cards actually understood him more than he knew himself. 

‘So. Finally, we get an emotional card. Which is pretty fitting for the two of us, I think. Seeing as we’re pretty much Mr. Happy and Mr. Angry.’ 

‘New aliases, Master Dick?’ Alfred commented.

‘You’re not even _pretending_ to be busy anymore, Pennyworth!’ Damian protested, clearly worried about whatever was going to come next. 

Both Alfred and Dick heard the worry in his his voice. Dick glanced at the butler who, with a small, knowing smile, gathered up the tea things. ‘You’re quite right, Master Damian. I shall take my leave.’

Damian waited until he heard the door close behind the butler, then turned back to Dick. ‘Continue.’

‘Sorry, Dami,’ he said gently. ‘I should have asked you if you wanted to do this in private. These readings can get a bit personal.’

‘I-I don’t really mind… it’s just a silly card trick anyway.’ The boy grew red again, stammering. The more he said that, the less he believed it. He motioned at the last card, eager to get Dick’s attention away from him. ‘Well? What does this one mean?’

‘Right…’ Dick gave him an odd look before turning his attention back to the card in his hand. ‘So, the reason I laughed so hard when I pulled this one out was because it’s pretty much the perfect card for both of us; or at least I think it is. The Six of Cups represents nostalgia, particularly childhood.' 

_'Tt._ So This card is telling us we're _children_?'

'Well... that's one way to put it. I think it's saying different, but related, things for both of us. For me, I think it serves as both an encouragement and a warning. I think being around you, being around Robin, has brought up a lot of good memories for me. When I was a kid, running around Gotham as Robin, I didn’t have the responsibility I have as Batman, or even as Nightwing. I wasn’t responsible for the protection of a whole city. I was just backup. I was there to help, not lead. I took my role seriously, but I had a lot of fun with it too. I knew I was helping people, and that simple fact made me happy… these days, it feels like I can never help enough people.’ 

Dick paused, and Damian fidgeted uncomfortably, knowing this was a tender topic for his mentor and brother; something that had been bothering him, especially since becoming Batman. 

‘But _The Six of Cups_ is a reminder that looking back to the past can be a good thing,’ Dick continued. ‘I learned a lot of valuable lessons when I was a kid. Things were simpler. And I think its good to return to that simplicity every now and again... even if the world has become a more complicated place since then. But enough about me.’ He grinned at Damian who straightened up, nervous. ‘For you, I feel like this card is telling you to _create_ a childhood.’

'What the _hell_ do you mean by that?' Damian asked, his voice dangerous.

‘Damian…’ Dick began hesitantly, setting the card down and leaning forward to look the boy in the eye. ‘You were brought up by The League of Assassins. You didn’t exactly _have_ a childhood that you can be nostalgic about. You were denied that, and it makes me angry every time I think about it. But you’re still a child. And I feel like this card is encouraging you to just… be a kid. Do things you didn’t get to do when you were growing up.’ Dick ran his hand through his hair, getting worked up. ‘Hell, go jump on a trampoline or something! Go to an arcade. Have some fun for once in your life.’ 

Damian stood abruptly and stalked towards the door without a word. 

‘Damian…’ Dick sighed, damning his words and emotions for getting him into trouble yet again. ‘Wait, please. Don’t shut me out like this.’ 

The boy stopped, his fists clenched and spun around on his mentor, eyes fierce but hazy. _‘This has nothing to do with “us.”'_

'This has _everything_ to do with us,’ Dick countered defensively. 'I'm going to be blunt, Damian. Something is _off_ between us. It's been off since our first night on patrol. Since we became Batman and Robin. I didn't think much of it for the first few weeks, when we were still figuring things out... but then we stagnated. And no amount of training or trust-falls have helped us improve.'

'And you think the two of us acting like _children_ would help our performance as Batman and Robin to improve? That if I acted all playful and childish like _the original Robin_ , our efficiency would magically increase?' Damian laughed, his tone bitter and cutting. ' _It wouldn’t._ It would get us both killed.'

'I _think,_ that if we both stopped trying to approach our relationship as Batman and Robin as if it were some sacred cult, and treated it like the partnership against crime that it really is, we would damn well improve.' Dick responded coldly. 'I'm too caught up trying to "preserve Batman's image," and you act as if every single move you make is being judged.'

'Every single move _either of us_ makes is being judged. It would be stupid to pretend otherwise. Maybe I couldn’t afford a childhood growing up as the heir of the al-Ghul family, and maybe my mother did neglect me and my father knew nothing of my existence. But getting caught up over that gets me nowhere. What’s done is done, there’s no going back and rewriting that part of my life, I can only move forward now. That’s what father taught me before he died, and I refuse to ruin his legacy by acting like a child, wasting my time on frivolities, and letting down my guard as Robin.' Damian's voice rose as he continued. 'And quite frankly, I'm appalled that _you_ would even ask that of me. _You_ of all people should know that there is no childhood as Robin! You've managed to convince yourself that what you had was a "childhood," but deep down, you know the truth. I _read_ your files. I know Two-Face beat you within an inch of your life not months after you became Robin. People _died_ because you weren't strong enough to save them, and all you could do was watch. You can't have a childhood after that. And neither can I. Your stupid cards are _wrong_!’

A heavy silence filled the room. Damian stood there panting, exhausted from their long night on patrol, mentally and emotionally spent. His small fists clenched tightly at his side, trembling with anger, begging to lash out at something, anything. It was the only release he had ever been taught: to channel all his hate and fear and pain through his fists, his sword. To take it out on others. To make them bleed so that he wouldn't have to. To hope that the suffering of others would dull his own pain, make it go away. 

He stared at his brother, holding his gaze out of hatred and fear. But in that moment, he saw what lay beneath. He saw the brokenness. Dick’s face had grown dark, his eyes full of a tired sadness that he had never seen under all the jokes and hair-tousles. And Damian realised too late the weight of all he had said. Suddenly, he felt like running away. Suddenly, he realised that Dick was all that he had, and he couldn’t stand losing him. Suddenly, it felt like everything was caving in around him. He opened his mouth to speak, to apologise, to say something, anything to his brother. But nothing came out.

_He's right,_ Dick thought to himself as he sat there, enduring the old painful memories, watching the hurting boy that stood in front of him. _But he's also wrong. It's true that I lost a lot more than blood when Two-Face beat the living daylight out of me. But reality beats us all up eventually; some of us earlier than others. I had my parents' memories to work from. I knew that happiness was something I was entitled to, and Bruce didn't jeopardise that by making me Robin. But Damian has nothing to base his belief in happiness on. Working with Bruce had become Damian's happiness, and it was taken away from him. Just like that. And now... Damian is drowning in the deep end because of it. Lost, confused, angry with himself more than anyone else._

In that moment, Dick realised that Damian needed him. That underneath all the anger and pain, there was a child yearning for belonging and love. He needed Dick to look into his future and tell him that he saw a light at the end of the tunnel. That it would all be worth it in the end. That he saw, not greatness like his mother had before him, but _hope ___in Damian.

__‘No, Damian. _You’re_ wrong.’ Damian’s mouth opened slightly, surprised by the gentle authority in Dick’s voice. ‘Bruce never would have wanted his ten-year-old son to be denied a childhood in order to fulfil some damn duty to his memory. That's not your job. It’s my job as Batman to carry on the work Bruce did in life, to honour him in death. But it’s your job to be the best Robin that you can be. And Robin has always been the light to Batman’s darkness, even if Batman is a former Robin now. Batman needs—no. _I_ need you to be an annoying little snot-nosed kid just like Bruce needed me to be an annoying little snot-nosed kid all those years ago. And, truth be told, this sad, messed-up city needs it too. _ _

__‘I’m not asking you to be irresponsible, or naive, or childish. I’m not asking you to be that kid from the circus who couldn’t keep his mouth shut during patrol. I’m asking you to be angry in the moments I can’t afford to be as Batman. To cry when Batman needs to show strength. To laugh when Batman needs to be serious. To be a pain-in-the-ass kid when Batman needs to be a mature adult. That’s the only way Batman has been able to survive—he needs Robin to act as a foil to his darkness. And you may think that there is no light in you, but you’re wrong about that too. There is light in you. And you won’t last long as Robin, or Damian Wayne for that matter, if you don’t let yourself be a child every now and then.’_ _

'I—' his voice caught in his throat. Damian quickly rubbed away the tears that were now streaming down his face. 'I _can't._ ' Pleading, his voice barely audible. Damian suddenly felt the weight of all that had been pressing down on him these past few weeks, ever since his father died. He thought he had finally found rest. The answer to his questions. But now he just felt lost again. Batman didn't have all the answers, and deep down, he knew his father hadn't either. But it damn well seemed like he had. He had been so sure of his direction as heir to the al-Ghul dynasty, his path had been clear. Then he had felt torn over his two families. He had chosen. And then the whole reason for his choice had been taken away from him. He had thought he could follow Batman without Bruce Wayne under the cowl, but he realised that he had never been following Batman. He had been following his father.

'I don't know what I'm doing anymore,' he admitted into the emptiness, everything else fading away from his senses. Drifting. Lost...

Damian turned away from Dick as his mentor stood and crossed the room. Everything inside of him screamed to run, unwilling to show any more vulnerability than he already had. His pride and fear of affection burning in his chest, clouding his thoughts. But when he felt Dick’s strong arms around his shoulders pulling him into an embrace, he did not resist. He relinquished all control of the moment and just let it be.

Dick wanted nothing more than to cry for them both. For their whole family. For the tragedy that had hunted them down, trapped them in every corner of every year. Instead he stood there, hugging the boy close; his small head leaning against Dick's chest as wordless tears fell upon the Bat symbol. Damian's small, gasping sobs stuck in his throat as he tried to contain them, and his brother stood there with him until he grew calm once more, until his body grew limp and tired. 

'I'll let you in on a secret, Damian,' Dick said quietly, 'I _still_ don't know what I'm doing either,' Dick said.

Damian scoffed in between sniffs as he pulled away gently, a grin forming at the corners of his mouth. 'We didn't need a pack of cards to find that out, Grayson.' 

Dick smiled at him, a sad half-smile that spoke tomes, that understood the need to cover emotion with humour. He knelt down in front of Damian so that he could be at eye level with the boy, and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 'We can take our time you know,' he said. _'You_ can take your time. Robin is your identity now. It's yours to mould and change until it fits perfectly, just like your identity as Damian Wayne is.' 

Damian nodded and Dick gave him one last hair tousle before letting him go, frowning as he watched the boy head towards the door. He felt torn over choosing Damian as his Robin, not because he wasn’t more than capable, but because he was just a kid, just like he had been. And though Bruce had done his best to protect Dick from having what was left of his childhood innocence taken away too soon, it was true what Damian had said: you could only patrol Gotham and still retain that innocence for so long. He didn’t want that to happen to Damian. He suddenly remembered a question Bruce had asked him a few years ago, out of guilt and worry:

_The early years. I’ve forgotten if… they were good for you, weren’t they?_

‘Damian,’ Dick called after him. Hesitating. Afraid of the truth, but knowing it was something he had to ask. ‘Did I make the right choice? I mean… are you happy? As Robin.’

Damian grinned back at him. ‘Dick… becoming Robin _saved me.’_

**Author's Note:**

> Before I started this fic, I had no idea that Dick being into tarot was actually canon. Then I read Nightwing #3. Haha, so I went back and added the name of the fortune teller who "used to bake cookies and teach me tarot" according to Dick. :)


End file.
